Sometimes i go back a week or two into the archives to see what i’ve been talking about, and i’m surprised by it. How does that work?
by krisis
meta
I just (for the first time ever) caught wind of someone plagiarizing my content for their own nefarious uses. The site itself seems to have disappeared, but Google has faithfully cached the one offending page here. Strangely enough, i located it via a referral from a the search “that the only way to convince me of its worth is to do amazing,” which sounded oddly familiar because i wrote it here. Further perusal reveals that this post was also partially lifted. The only other pages from “Bellylicious” that Google seems to have cached are all just index files or in other languages, and i can’t seem to locate an active email link on any of them, so i’ve hit a dead-end in locating the perpetrator.
I don’t know what i find the most bothersome out of this entire happening. First, the search itself is rather odd … anyone searching for that exact phrase would have had to have read it on either my site or on the plagiarist’s … anyone doing the former would have no reason to search for it, so someone read the latter and found it familiar (maybe the author forgot where she stole it from?). The second thing that bothers me is that i would’ve never even imagined someone was using entire paragraphs of mine to say what they were feeling, let alone known about it. In a way it’s almost flattering … she wasn’t using whole posts, but just succinct sections of them that she found applicable to her life. At the same time it’s rather chilling — as though i’m a blogging thesaurus that anyone can tap into to to find some relevant emotions to spruce up their post with.
The third thing that bothers me is… well, it’s just the stealing itself. I’m sure if someone emailed me and asked if they could use a lengthy excerpt from my page i would probably let them so long as they attributed it to me. Frantically trying to track down the person who has been stealing from CK via Google has led to this tiny kernel of panic in my stomach that is saying “what happens when someone takes one of your songs? you won’t even know… you’ll never know it.” And, it’s true … most of my songs are copyrighted enough to hold out in court, but anyone could be covering them on MP3.com with different titles and i would never even know it. The entire concept bothers me… i’ve never stolen anything in my life … i don’t even eat spare grapes in the produce section of the supermarket! The fact that someone could be stealing from me right now… not only stealing, but stealing something that i spent time and emotion on so that other people can enjoy it totally disconnected from me … it’s almost enough to make me tear all of this down right now.
Of course, i can’t do that. This is my life, and my therapy, and my fun. And, if it brings on a couple of more crises along the way, so be it
Wow, that was frustrating. But, anyway… wouldn’t you know that the five days that my websight was down for the count were probably my five most interesting days this quarter? I hardly even know where to begin. It’s almost as if my life doesn’t become real if i don’t sit down to blog about some aspect of it, even if that aspect is totally apart from the bits i really want to remember. Blogger is like some twisted notary public of my life, and ineed it to witness things before they are real.
And, here’s a question for you: what is the thrill of a secret if you don’t tell anyone?
Testing?
Would you believe that for once it wasn’t blogger that fucked up my site?
I feel like… i don’t know, Third Rock From the Sun? Do you remember at the very beginning of the show when the four of them didn’t understand anything at all? … Taking coats at parties, kissing, slapping, cheerleaders, and breasts? Lately when i go back and look at the archives i just feel like a visitor in the shape of me trying to emulate the behavior i’m supposed to be representing. Is that circular enough for you? The change happened somewhere around when co-op began, because you can tell the difference between the computer being a constant companion and just something to stare at in-between doing things. And then i started doing a few things and talking about them, instead of just talking about not doing anything. And now i do things all the time and have nothing to talk about afterwards.
What’s so interesting about my life, really? Obviously i do things… last night i went to the movies, i can talk about that. I walked to the movie theatre, which is three blocks from my house. In the lobby Laurel was waiting for me (along with her roommate and Jeff (as if i went on a date with Laurel and didn’t mention it (obviously i only mention Laurel because you know who she is at this point))). She asked if i had gotten my haircut and i responded “Not for almost a month.” We saw Monsters INC, which involved a lot of giggling. Afterwards i bought some sushi and talked about X-Men with Erika, who was reading Carrie.
So, there’s two main theories of journaling that i can discern. The one is that obviously my night was pretty freakin’ boring when it comes to reading about it, so i should either talk about something else or learn to do more interesting things. The other is that it doesn’t matter what i’m doing, just so long as i put my own spin on it people will care about reading. I’m not sure which of the two i subscribe to, but my first journaling connection online was the ever-present Gus, who resides wholly in the second school of thought. Gus basically just writes one post a day, each and every single day, and he weaves it all together so that you’re not only interested in what he has to say, but you honestly want to know what he’s doing with himself. Frankly, Gus is one of the only people who employs this technique who i enjoy, the others being Alison and Meg, though they use their narrative voice a little more pervasively.
The way last year had been going for me, i just merrily trolled along with my own script of things to say and would talk about parties and things if and when i went to them because they were typically unusual and exciting. But, at this point, going to a party is like “wow, another party. i wonder who’ll hook up tonight?”, and afterwards i’m always tearing out my hair thinking “how can i tell an interesting story about that lapdance…?” So, now i have a daily existence and i suppose my big question is whether i’m supposed to talk about it, or me, or some other nebulous thing — because back in the day i was talking about my life, but it was a lack of a life, so it was just me talk about me.
Wow, now i’m dizzy. Tell you what… you sit and stare at the screen for an hour thinking about what i’ll write next, and i’ll go get some ice cream. Cool? Cool.